In Dark Shadows
by CheeriosAreSquare
Summary: A sequel to the Shadow's Wife. Amira, the fifteen year old Persian harem girl Erik met, is back seven years later, with a child.
1. Chapter 1

"Happy Birthday, Maamaan," Those shy sweet words awoke Amira, who would be a wonderful age of twenty two years judging by her daughter's earnest cherubic face.

She closed her eyes again, wrapping her two arms around her little daughter who willingly obliged at the act of crawling into the sparse sheets on her small bed with her, her fingers feeling the soft skin of her face, feeling the little dragon nostrils blow out warm air.

"Thank you, Luciana my love," After years of practice, her language skills was being tested when she named her daughter after the girl whom her Erik once loved. When her eyes opened again, she could still imagine her baby, just a mere six years ago, in her hands and looking at those gray eyes and thinking.

If only she had his eyes.

Freshly sixteen, just given birth in an old wooden constructed bed somewhere in a country not France, but rather Italy. The baby yelled and yelled and outside, the usual poundings stopped for a moment and she gasped as the baby, a pink mess of a girl, opened her wrinkly eyelids.

They were gray. Amira couldn't help but feel disappointed. The memory of Erik was fresh in her tired mind and somehow, she imagined her little child with all the best parts of the man she loved. How dull it was, a contrast to her own green irises and Erik's vibrantly yellow ones.

And quite spontaneously, her lips touched each of her eyelids as she squirmed in ticklish fear.

Speaking in the language they both knew best, Amira stood up to open the curtains in their dusty compartment.

"We can't stay in bed all day," She smiled, sitting back down and running her hands through the dark hair on her daughter's head.

"Why not?" She shrugged, wincing as her mother's hand untangled her hair.

"Because I have to got to work, and you have got to something in your belly," Amira answered as she always had since the two of them arrived in Paris just a year ago. Somewhere inside, she knew she could not just stay here and expect her child's father to pop up for her to even tell Luci about her. It was foolish, the odds of running into him was next to nothing in this wild country. She could have stayed in Italy. Rome. Her eyes strayed to the fading wallpaper of a map. Italy. It seemed so long ago, so long ago that she was still believing in what people thought she was. Still that weak odalisque.

"Am I in Paris yet?" Amira felt as if she was grasping life with her arms and knees. She collapsed on the floor, the shawls being tightened around her, her head pounding and her legs shaking from fatigue.

"No, ma'am, Rome," A man stepped outside his store, catching a sight of her. Amira's ears perked up at the Persian being spoken.

"Sir?" She acknowledged as he tipped his hat.

"Sorry, miss, only know little , business," He explained more incoherently than Amira could remember.

"Water please!" She lowered her face, remembering it was not veiled, and in the time being taken, she played a game of charades with the elderly man.

He nodded, stepped inside his house and came holding a glass of white substance she could only guess was milk and in another hand, a slice of bread.

"Thank you!" She whispered out as he handed it to her and she took a seat on his doorsteps.

He merely waved his hand, sticking one hand in his pocket watching her eat as if it were her last meal. Somehow she lost track of time and when she looked back up, it was dark.

The man walked out again, and pointed inside the dark house. Amira gulped. Was it worth it?

And it was. She stayed nearly five years at his debt, cooking his meals and learning his language. With her eyes scrunched together, she felt more than she ever thought she could be. She had then took off the burka, tried not to bow her head too much, lose the inclination to call any man her master. For now, on a country under a heavy sun, she had new responsibilities in her life. Her daughter, born a few months in the house of a stonemason. His name was Giovanni and he was wonderful, quiet and kind.

"Go to France," He told her one day, a pressing smile on his face.

And so she did. In the heart of it all. Paris. Where everyday brings only what Allah knows.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik Destler sat in his office, frantically following all the notes he had written. Though there was no time deadline, he was nervous in state and that did not help much. A construction of a Parisian opera house was in store. He still had music to compose, books to read, and find ways to tell that idiotic Charles Garnier that they would never be able to do _that_. Why, the acoustics of the opera house would be completely ridiculous! He leaned back in his wooden chair, closing his eyes for a brief second before a roar of jester and cheer was outside his office windows. Suddenly there was complete silence and he walked over to the window side, peaking down a few floors to see a circle filled around a tiny figure. He smirked. Then the sound rose up to his windows, it was no doubt, Puccini, no doubt _La Boheme_. Yet the voice, it was young and innocent but emotion a plenty, sound loud, her Italian diction was near natural and the dialect very familiar. A few birds interrupted him and he shushed them in dire need to hear this girl. The song was done and he checked out the window. The street pedestrians cried out, "Brava! Brava!"

He had no time to think, this was something beyond the ordinary! He rushed down the flight of stairs, and when he stepped on the ground floor he forgot how cold the Parisian evenings had been. A cold wave of oxygen hit his face and suddenly he felt idiotic. So he stood at the doors, peeking out the door crack waiting for the crowd to thin and then he walked toward her.

"Hey little girl," He tried in Italian. She looked it when she turned around, her eyes widening just a bit at the sight of the mask. He stood up tall, authoritative.

"Come with me," He continued as she shook her head, "You sing wonderfully,"

He tried a smile. It felt artificial. The girl lowered her face and for a second, he had to blink once. She looked like…like _her_.

"Where are you from? You speak Italian?" He continued, persistent to know.

"Sir, I do not think it is your business, thank you!" She chirped out. He raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I!" He could not think how to retaliate. He really did have no business in her business. And he did not know why she mattered. He had heard countless gypsies sing, several actors on the streets, several preachers of good faith, of good government but none of them could sing a soprano arias like her.

"Well, good day to you sir!" Her French was shaky, but still amazing for a girl if she was an Italian immigrant. She leaned down and picked up a sack, and as the bag jingled its change, Erik's eyes opened.

"Wait!" She turned around, her expression near boredom and near irritation.

"Surely I have some money for your wonderful performance," He struck his hand down his coat pocket and pulled out the only piece of currency he could find. Twenty francs.

He dumped it into her bag as her eyes opened again and she looked up.

"Merci, Messieur!" She bowed to him in an odd fashion, something totally tangential from European forms of exaltation. Why, it seemed too foreign to even place.

"And may I ask one question?" She nodded.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"Six," She answered, raising six fingers, a lone finger from the hand holding tightly on the bag.

Six! So young, so talented.

"Well, you don't live in these guttural streets do you, eh?" He was quite shocked at her age for her eyes seemed to suggest years beyond that. He noticed her apparel was plain, her belly protruding in the normal fashion of any child her age and her cheeks fresh and healthy. No, she should be in good care except for her dirty hands.

"No, I live with my mother, sir. Down there." She pointed down the busy street, "In that alley down there, next to the bakery."

Erik could see her struggle with her French so he switched back to Italian, which she seemed to talk more casually in.

"You are very different, sir," She noticed.

"Why?" He had now crouched down to her height, examining something he could not put his hands on.

"Because you know to speak all the languages, and you actually like music and besides that you wear a mask!" She laughed out, a bright chirp making ripples in his ear, "You are like me!"

He joined in on her laugh and for a moment, he felt alive again, something he had refused to feel after fleeing from Persia escaping from death in exchange for a more agonizing and slow death.

They had talked for a while about some inconsequential matter before a finger tapped his jacket. It could not be the policeman, he was standing in the café, watching him. It could not be Charles Garnier, he doesn't usually stop by. So he turned around as the little girl smiled.

"Maamaan!" She cried and suddenly Erik could not help but look. And it was like Medusa's glaring eyes as he found his balance.

"Erik?" She whispered, as he gulped.

"My God! It really is you!" He wrapped his arms around her as tears streamed down her face, "My darling, my love, oh, Amira!"

His voice was getting choked up and his wet lips touched where they could on her face.

What a happy, happy birthday present! Somehow, she could not stop thinking that this was anything besides a fantasy and she held on to him tightly. How horrid it would look! A tattered woman like her in the arms of her Erik, so well dressed and groomed now. He looked dashing, not the intimidation she felt in Persia. Now he was hers, equally and freely. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he around her waist and fiercely, his lips hit hers. Her heart could not hold any more joy as it did, pumping fast for Erik. Nothing could pull her away from his grasp now-

"Baba?"

They both looked at the little girl. She was a better guesser than Erik was.


	3. Chapter 3

"What?" The word was a reluctant hiss coming out of Erik's mouth. A moment ago, he would have shrugged it off, spent another night thinking consciously to forget the fifteen year old girl who once was his own. Now she was back. And he had a daughter all this time?

He examined the curious girl who went to take her mother's hands and look upon the masked man with new light. Erik had sufficiency in the Persian language to understand the words the little girl said and his legs felt weak, his head a little dizzy from too much air.

"She?" The distance that had grown between the two after she came was stifling, how he wished to hold her in his arms and how he wished to hear what had happened the night he betrayed not just her but apparently his daughter.

"Erik," Amira started, her lips forming the words before she could stop herself.

"That's better than master," Erik started an attempt at some dry humor. Amira's eyes suggested she had found amusement but that little voice started again.

"Maamaan, who is that man?" Amira was at slight discomfort, awkward and holding a tighter grip on her daughter's hand.

"He is your father," She closed her eyes, as Erik walked forward and apparent tears glimmered in his eyes.

"My God," He murmured, his hand reaching for the little girl as Amira nudged her forward towards her father. His expression seemed to ask permission to touch his child, this beautiful angel that somehow was his child. His fingers brushed the top of her head, the crown of dark hair, just like her mother's. He took her by the chin, tilting her face toward the light. Grey eyes, a tiny nose, an expression of thought. Her eyes traveled to her mother and Erik stopped to catch a breath.

"Well we can't just stay in the streets all day," Amira nonchalantly decided, her eyes still locked on Erik.

"Come into my office," Erik's voice rose nervously.

"My apartment, it is just down the street," Both of them needed the privacy.

"But my place, it's right up there," He pointed to the office, catching sight of his name in tiny print. He had forgotten he switched languages.

"Oh." She nodded and took Luciana's hand as Erik went to open the door for them. They walked up the stairs as Erik followed, his eyes darting impulsively at her rear side and then at the memory of her. Her style was obviously different yet adapting to the style of the young Parisian women, the colors of the fabric dimmed down than the bright ones she was wearing. She had definitely aged, and to her benefit. How old was she now? Twenty one, twenty two? Her skin was toned with the warm sun on her hand, her hair was in a bun peeking out from a shawl, and her face had become more defined. Then he had to look at that little person that was supposedly half him, half her.

They ended up on the second floor, a wooden door that had his name on it. He opened the door and the three of them walked in, blasted by a sudden heat due to the candles around.

"What do you do?" That was the beginnings of all she wanted to ask of him.

"I, uh, design buildings, you know, architecture? I am currently designing an Opera House, working with Charles Garnier, you know him? No? I just found it in a newspaper and yes, it makes an ample sum of money. You?"

"Nothing, I-" Her face turned warm, it was idiotic to say that money wasn't the easiest thing coming in the house, but always, there was enough to feed Luci, both foods and needs. She didn't need to say, her face was covered with a layer of dirt, her hands a little rougher than he remembered, and her eyes were dark around the face that no longer bore make up.

"I understand," He bit on his lower lip, his eyes darting to Luciana before folding his arms, the little girl was preoccupied with the machinery next to her.

"Where have you been all this time?" His voice revealed the desperate nature of his heart.

"I should ask you the same," She smirked, lowering her eyes, still big and magically green.

No hard feelings were there? She blinked a few times, finding it hard to release the tears that came so easily seven or so years ago.

"I love you so much." He grasped her hand, as she sat in the dark corner with moonlight peeking in the window. Nadir Khan stood outside, and with a grunt, Erik turned, "I have to go now." He felt no hesitation, there was no time for that. His lips were pressed against her forehead, his thin fingers running through the waves of her hair.

"Erik," Her eyes began brimming and she held on tighter to his hand.

"Then come with me," He whispered, and he sniffled, holding back his own tears, "I don't want to leave you."

Amira let out a chuckle, somewhat choked in the moment.

"Remind me why?" She leaned in, her lips lingering on his.

"Erik!" Nadir hissed at the room, making an indistinguishable clapping sound as Erik stood up, wrapping his arms around her as if it were the last time.

But it wasn't.

She was standing right in front of him, a smile tugging at her joyous face. He walked toward her, every defying footstep felt heavy, until he was face to face with her.

He lifted her chin, brushed the falling hairs out of her face, and he kissed her.


	4. Chapter 4

"Maamaan! When are we going home?" Luciana tugged at her mother's skirts. The idea of breaking up the intimate moment between her mother and the strange Frenchmen didn't seem to bother her as much as the dimming horizon outside the windows.

"Oh." Amira blushed slightly, her conduct a bit impulsive but then again, it was Erik. Erik, whose arms were still tightly around her waist.

She caught Erik's expression. It was too adorable. What should have been his nose scrunched up, moving the whole mask with it and his lips were pouted on that face, eyes alert at the sight of his daughter. How fitting that his daughter had a father now. She leaned forward, closing the gap between them as her head rested on his chest. Amira could feel his lips lingering, traveling across her head. She took her other arm, wrapping it around Luciana's shoulders.. She turned her eyes from the two of them.

"So you are my Baba?" The last word made Erik skip a breath, for never would he imagine himself in this role, one he had no experience with. Her grey eyes showed her confidently impatience need to know. At six, that serious nature could prove enough that it was Erik's daughter. Suddenly, as if given a magnifying glass Amira noticed how beautifully genetically lucky her daughter really was. Just physically, her sharp alertness made her striking, her eyes bore the same shape as Erik's and her nose was delicately shaped on her face. When she laughed, the laugh was carefree like the moments when Erik could laugh out loud like that.

"Baba?" He asked himself, albeit in a whisper loud enough for both of the girls in the silent room to hear.

"Yes, love, he is your Baba," Amira smoothed down her daughter's hair as Erik suddenly began to notice once more how heartwarming it was to hear the Persian syllables roll around in that Parisian apartment.

Erik could say nothing, only reached out as Luciana stood staring at her father.

Breaking off the awkward silence, Amira turned to Erik.

"Come home with us."

"Home?"

Now was not the time to think of proper manners, proper etiquette and what people would say if he walked into the bedrooms of some foreign woman's bedroom. Not that anyone would notice a shadow slipping in and out around Paris at night.

And the idea slipped him quicker than anyone could actually react.

He grasped both of her hands in his, and leaned his face toward her.

"Marry me." For real. Amira gasped out a little, the shock can from who knows what. It has been nearly eight years since they were together and yet, the passion was stronger than ever. In Paris, she felt as his equal and being older, she felt no hesitation in her feelings. She loved him and was ready to unite with him as a husband.

"I love you, Erik," Tears began gathering in her eyes but quickly found unnecessary in distraction other known as Erik's lips. She took one hand to pull his head toward hers.

"We'll be a family, I could be normal and you'll be fatter than that evil khanum," He smiled genuinely, lost in thought and ready to change everything he had regarded as his necessity in the way he was.

"We are and you are normal, you proved that to me several times through," She took his hands this time, rubbing in a circular motion on the scarred back of his hands.

"So we will never be separated again right?" Amira could hear the afforded uncertainty in his voice. Was she really that desirable to him?

"Erik, I will marry you, tomorrow, any day as long as I am alive," She giggled, "But come home with me."

"It is Maamaan's birthday!" Luciana piped in, as nearby bells signaled the hour.

"It is?" And he burst into laughter. "Today, I learned I am the father of a beautiful girl who can sing beautifully in Italian. Today I learned it was the anniversary of the day your wonderful parents gave you to the world." He burst out in laughter as he picked her up, swinging her just a bit as the two of them ended up in a tight hug once more.

Then his expression grew serious.  
>"What are we waiting for?" He walked over to pick up his hat, "Let's go home."<p>

There was a lump in his throat in anticipation of her invitation. It had been seven years since. Was there other men in her life since then? All there was since Amira was a string of hopeful prostitutes he could only look away from every time their desperate eyes would follow even him. His hands started to tremor at the idea. It was too late that she would just invite him over for a talk…but should he make the initiative? Then there was the child to think about.

They began to prepare for the cold night, as seen by the darkness outside.

In the cold breeze, they had realized that it had briefly rained in the moments between when they were inside for the ground was full of dark puddles. In slight panic for reasons he did not know, he looked at the two girls preparing to cross the road, signaling that they were to lead the way to their house.

"Here," He raised one hand to the little girl he never spoke more than one full and fulfilling conversation with. She raised a hesitant brow before he mother pushed her toward him with a knowing smirk on her face. Erik eyed the puddle and know that it was stupid because everyone has seen puddles before. A smart girl like her and her mother would know. He took both arms and carried her in his arms as she let out a playful yelp.

Instantly, Erik's heart felt a warmth he never knew he had, she wrapped her tiny hands around his neck and was beginning to take one step forward, one hand placing his hat on hers in case of stray leaks from the sky.

He turned to Amira and his expression seemed to say, I totally did not forget about you standing out in the cold with no one to hold your hand and guide you over the puddle.

"Already engaged in your fatherly duties," She smiled a big smile.

Her lips brushed his cheek, her fingers lost in the skin of her daughter's belly. She took a leap and walked slightly forward but enough for him to catch up. It was strange, the child felt like a feather in his hands, felt like he could carry her forever and the thought hit him.

"Amira jan, what's her name." He asked as she turned to him, and without more than a shrug answered.

"Luciana Madeleine Destler."

Erik gulped before pausing.

"How European." was his only answer.


	5. Chapter 5

"You don't like it?" Amira quipped, her mouth turning into a pout. She could not help but feel dissatisfied with his disapproval.

"No, it's just, horrid memories, my dear," He smiled dryly, then pressed his lips to her head.

"Then tell me," She looked down, could feel just how unreasonable she was being.

"I think you know the story," He shrugged, shifting his daughter and wishing his hands were warmer.

"How do I?" Amira didn't feel ready to explain her impulsive logic, didn't feel ready to say anything. She was wanted to be able to return to what she knew their relationship to be.

"It had to be Giovanni," Erik assumed, "One of the kindest men in the world,"

"Giovanni," The Italian name resonated in her voice.

"How did you meet him?" He tried to push off all ideas of relationships that involved any kind of touching.

"Erik, you must know, it was never like that! I was pregnant, I was so tired, so very tired," She closed her eyes, memories still so fresh in her head.

"I know, my Amira, if only I was by your side to protect you," He bit on his lower lip as they started to turn a corner. The two of them reached the entrance of the apartment entrance, and she reached for a key. The door creaked open and in they walked, a wave of warm but stale air hitting them. Amira pounded up the stairs as Erik gingerly took step by step, making sure his very tired daughter would not wake. When he had reached the floor, the shabby door was open and Amira was opening the windows.

"A bit humid in here," She smiled, and then pointed to the bed. "Just put her there, that brat, she usually is jumping up and down the bed at this time,"

"A night owl? Highly unusual," Erik placed on the bed and he found himself kneeling by her side as Amira came to tuck her in, give her daughter an obligatory kiss. He placed his hand on her raven hair, his hands waved over her closed eyelids and her nose twitched just the slightest.

"My Luciana," He tried the name in his mouth.

By the time he was on his foot again, his knees were sore and there was a candle burning in the room and a cup of water on the table.

"Amira?" He called out, sitting down at the chair right in front of the bed. The room was small, definitely not cozy. His eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling until Amira popped out from behind a wall, dressed in sleepwear, and braiding her hair. He smiled at the sight of her, so normal, so beautiful. He stood up and could not help himself, ran over and trapped her against the wall and himself.

"My dearest darling Amira, I love you so much." He whispered as she wrapped her once busy fingers around his neck, silencing his repetitive statements with a kiss.

"Mmm," She moaned out just a few moments, his hands were traveling up from her rear, up to her head and suddenly they stood in complete darkness.

"The candle must of blown out," His teeth glimmered in the moonlight as she giggled, "The lights are out!" He exclaimed once more, unsure of what exactly it had to do with anything.

The moment was less awkward then they imagined, faster than they would have thought it to be. Years had passed but some things didn't need to remain in practice to be pleasantly passionate to both parties. The wall was cold but Erik's fingers around her neck was what made her shiver with delight, her legs rode up and soon, both were wrapped around his hips and she had to bite her lips from shrieking in joy.

When all was said and done, Erik, out of breath, held her close as he started laughing out for no reason.  
>"I'm so happy! I'm so delightfully and fantastically happy, Amira,"<p>

They kissed a few times more before they found themselves sitting down, their backs against that wall.

She yawned once and her head found a pillow called his shoulders and a blanket his arms and before she knew it, morning light arrived and she was lying in bed, her arms wrapped, as usual, around her daughter.

"Luciana, baby," She whispered, suddenly all alert. She knew she could not panic.

The little girl made an incoherent grunt and rolled to the other side as Amira blinked fast, sitting up and suddenly sighed in relief. His coat, as her eyes could see, was placed on a chair but he was no where in sight.

"Erik?" Her voice was coarse, trying not to sound hysterical.

"Erik?" She repeated, a bit louder and derision began to spread, she broke down crying, her face slammed into the fluffy European pillows and Luciana awoke at the sound.  
>"What's wrong?" She rubbed her eyes.<p>

"Nothing, baby, nothing." She supported herself on her elbow as she pulled her daughter closer to her.

"Then why are you crying?" She questioned, "If it's about Erik, I'm sure he'll come back."

The optimistic tone in the seven year old's voice made her raise her head and the two smiled at each other reassuringly until Amira ran her fingers through her daughter's tangled hair.

"He's your baba, you know that don't you? You're so smart," She leaned in until her nose touched her daughters and Luciana giggled and nodded.

"I totally know, Maamaan," Luciana rolled her eyes, as if it was never a big concern to her and she plopped back on the bed and Amira laughed out loud in satisfaction.

Knock, knock, knock.

The two girls grew silent.


	6. Chapter 6

"My apologies," Erik stood at the door, holding a mess of things, a bag filled with food, with fashion catalogs, with items of vanity.

"Mmm?" Amira rolled off the bed, creaking underneath the shifting of weight, the light tone of her voice made him raise his eyebrows beneath that mask. He closed the door behind him and Amira couldn't help herself. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist as his arms fluttered about before resting on the back of her neck.

"What's wrong?" He whispered into her ear, his head leaning on top of hers so that her dark hair was brushing against his chin. Amira shifted, praying to Allah her eyes were not red still. It was stupid to think he would leave her after all this nightmare. As for Erik, he grew uncomfortable with the brutish memory of all that physical contact the previous night.

"Nothing," She blinked fast before nudging him away from her.

"Well I was supposed to be" Here he paused with his hand and rolling his eyes, continued "working, but I suppose I can control myself after being far so ahead of Garnier. I told him I would be measuring today but Fool! Who measures when you have the beauty of mathematics and superior calculation skills all benefited by too much time?"

Amira let out a laugh as Erik smiled, before he started fishing out items from the mysterious bag he brought.

"No time to waste now," Amira murmured, seemingly reading both of their minds. It amazed her how normal everything seemed.

The first items he pulled out explained the wonderfully warm aroma in the air, the smell of that French bread, golden brown and emitting warmth. Then a half wrapped parcel that contained something like a triangular prism inside, a soft yellow. Cheese.

"_Merci_," She whispered, before holding it up to her daughter who made her way to the table with a snooty pout that Amira could not help imagine on Erik's face.

"We don't need your charity sir," Luciana stated in Farsi, her seven year old fingers pushing the bread in her mother's tired hands back on the table, "Maamaan says it is me and her now after we left Italy that we would bring our own food on the table,"

"Luciana! Take that back," She hissed out more out of surprise than anger, placing one hand on her hip. Her daughter had always been clever and complying with her, they had been through so much in seven years.

"No, Maamaan, don't you understand?" Luciana stomped her foot just a bit as Amira's eyes darted to Erik, biting his lip and turning paler, "He's a stranger!"

"He's your father, dear," She leaned down to her height, her face reddening with embarrassment.

"But you act weird when he's here." She noted.

"Is that all? Luciana, stop all this trouble now." Amira stood back up and crossed her arms, irritated by her rebellious attitude.

"Fathers aren't ashamed of their family and are able to stop hiding around a mask," And her words seemed to sting Erik right in the heart. Impulse struck Amira as her hand struck her daughter's face. And Luciana blinked once, twice and she turned away toward behind the bed and out of their sight.

And Amira couldn't face the next few steps she would have to take.

She forced herself to divert her attention to that of Erik's reaction to her daughter's blunt words.

Instead Erik had a fearsome expression on his face.

"Did you just slap my daughter?" He articulated each word, it didn't matter if it was the king or Amira.

"Your daughter?" Amira couldn't help but scoff. He didn't know he had a daughter until yesterday night. She felt tempted to repeat that thought orally.

"Yes, my daughter. Let me tell, Amira," His voice was loud and harsh, "If you ever lay hands on her again you will be in a lot of trouble."

"Is that so?" Her anger began to boil, something that motherhood should prepare you for but never had she imagined rising in her now.

"Yes, she deserves to talk-" Erik reasoned, glancing over as she caught Luciana peeking over the bed.

"Not rudely! I don't believe that in my culture and religion, you can be so boldly rude to someone, let alone their parent." Amira waved her hand with emphasis.

"But not my daughter. She can say whatever the damn she pleases," Erik countered back.

Amira bit her lip. Allah. She was scared the comments Luciana made was hurting his vanity but guesses are guesses.

"Next time, do not embarrass myself nor my daughter with your code of conduct," Erik shook his head at her and began to walk toward the bed.

"Go ahead. I don't need you to tell me how to raise a brat. You can just slip them a little poison any time you want." She yelled at the back of his head and instantly, it was as if he had frozen, turned into a statue. For a moment, she feared what he could do to her health but what truly frightened him was what he could do to his own health. He had begun to put his hands into fists but all he did was breathe out in a deeply controlled voice.

"Shut up, shut it I tell you. I loved that boy." His voice had turned into a growl.

She bit her lips. It was hard not to fall to her knees and apologize to him. But she couldn't. Before anything else could go on, she felt a tight clasp around her waist.

"I'm sorry, Maamaan, I won't speak out of my turn." Luciana's face was intent, glaring upon that of her father's.

"Yes, my darling," Amira nodded, running her fingers down her daughter's lovely hair.

Erik's lower lip trembled. How natural fatherhood had seemed and suddenly, when given the time to think, he realized how frightening the aspect was. He gulped as he watched the little girl clutch on to her mother's waist as if she could protect her from anything this crazy masked man may do.

That was what he was to her. All because of the deformity he had. Disgust rose in himself and without more than a small gasp of pain, he collapsed onto a chair before he started to cry, hot tears blurring his vision.


	7. Chapter 7

The first words that emerged were from his daughter's mouth.

"What's wrong?" She began to walk toward him.

"Tell me, Luciana," He gulped, using his finger to signal her to come towards him, "Am I a horrible man?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that," She shrugged as she found herself face to face with her father, " It's just, I don't know you that well,"

"What do you mean? You know I'm your Baba," He started to panic.

"I know that you're my Baba, but-"

"Is it the mask. Luciana, do you want to see why I have to wear this mask? Will it totally change your perspective upon everything?" The speed of words projecting from his mouth accelerated as Amira finally piped up.

"No, Erik, not yet." Her voice was firm, a little frightened as she remembered her first encounter with the his face. Not even she could have handled the shock of that face, so corpse like and menacing, granted that was the look he was going for.

"Alright!" Luciana nodded, "I want to see."

"I'm not so sure you are ready, dear," Amira shook her head no.

"Yes I am!" A pout emerged. Amira frowned but stepped forward as Erik gave his fiance looks of regret and panic. She merely stuck her tongue out at him.

"Alright, Luciana, tell you what, you take it off of my face." Erik leaned forward as Luciana nodded.

"How do I do it?" She involuntarily scratched her head.

"Simple, just pull it off."

"Wouldn't that hurt?" Her face scrunched up.

"Not at all, I have a low physical pain tolerance," He winked at his daughter as she mouthed an O and then turned to her mother for reassurance. Amira merely rolled her eyes at her playingly and placed her hands on her little shoulders as if she needed to be held steady.

"You ready?" Erik breathed in, thinking that this was too sudden and harsh of a way to get his seven year old daughter to accept him.

Luciana nodded and before he knew it, his white mask was in her hand and her grey eyes grew larger. His first impulse was to pull the mask away but her reaction made him nervous. A bell like laugh filled the room.

"Oh Baba, that's nothing!" Her fingers reached for his face. One finger traced the place where his nose was supposed to be and down his bony cheekbones.

Erik exhaled in relief as Amira smiled, walking toward Erik and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I'm so sorry," He exclaimed as she kissed him, kissed each eyelid, up on her tiptoes.

"Even I forgot what a handsome man my master is," She smiled at him as he pulled her in together.

"Based on the errors of your facts, I believe you are clearly insane. Never refer to me as that anymore, please. Why do you still love me?" Erik sighed, feeling the delightfully terrible breeze hit his face.

"Who knows, Erik," She let out a giggle as Luciana walked over to take her mother's hand.

"It was not so bad was it, Luciana?" Amira questioned as Luciana shook her head.

"Even the stories that Zio Giovanni told me were scarier!" She had switched in Italian, "Tales of hairy beasts with fangs and scars on their face!"

Her parents laughed out loud.

"So that was what Giovanni and you were up to every morning during breakfast," Amira gave a knowing look to Erik, felt a little glad that Giovanni was capable of subliminally telling her daughter that her father was a good man.

"What? They are interesting stories!" Luciana defended herself.

"I know, dear," Amira answered.

"But Baba," The little girl looked at the tall man and set forth to ask the questions.

"Why do you wear that mask? How did your face get hurt?"

"It didn't get hurt, I was born like that and the mask, something out of mere habit. Not nearly everyone is as calm and accepting as my daughter," He leaned down. Erik took some time to look around at the two faces. They were so beautiful.

"So are we all right?" He murmured, scared of rejection. Amira smiled and nodded. Luciana copied her mother.

"Allah!" Amira's eyes grew wide, "I'm late!"

"Late?" Erik's eyebrows furrowed as she rushed about.

"For work! Late for work!" She jumped up and down, leaning down and kissing Luciana on both cheeks until she turned to Erik. She had to stop and smile at him.

"Why do you work, you won't need to anymore," Erik was a little flustered.

"Oh, we'll discuss this later," Her teeth showed as she smiled and she leaned forward again to kiss Erik on the lips. She was out the door within that minute.

It started then with Luciana asking him the question: why does Maamaan keep kissing him on the lips? And followed that was a series of conversations and bread eating and milk drinking before the sun had set and Amira had come home.

Luciana greeted her mother with a hug and Erik solemnly walked up to her.

"Luci told me so much." Erik sighed.

"Luci?" Amira asked, the nickname so simple unlike the adornments Giovanni had ever called the little girl. _Lu-chee_, he pronounced it.

"I told her she was named after two women I fearsomely admired. She asked me admire? Why not love? So I told her the only women I would ever love was yourself and your beautiful Maamaan. And Amira, she wants this and I think I want it to. Can you pack tonight? There's a little village called Boscherville just a little bit away from Paris, in the country that I want to go to. I want to see my mother."

All this came out of Erik's mouth and Amira could only nod.

"You didn't even give me a chance to sit down," was her only remark and that was enough to encourage Erik to write a symphony.


	8. Chapter 8

"I think my tooth fell out," Luciana sat across her parents in the horse drawn carriage. A little trip, Baba had said, a trip to see her grandmother.

Her parents gave her a pout, a mock look of disapproval but merely smiled at her. They were nauseatingly kind to each other, her mother's hand had been resting in the masked man's for the entire ride so far. And it felt like hours to Luciana.

"Well aren't you going to do something, Maamaan?" Her tongue licked the gum where her tooth once was and shivered at the smooth gap where once was a wiggling tooth.

"Luci, it's all right, it's very natural." Erik opened his palm to her and she deposited the tooth in his hand. The little white enamel landed in his hands and he slipped it into one of his breast pockets.

"Are you going to leave it there like that?" Luciana scrunched up her nose.

He nodded as she groaned out.

"Ew! That's not clean, Baba!"

Every time that word escaped her mouth, Erik felt so happy. His daughter calling him Baba!

"What else should I do with it?" He countered.

"It wasn't like it was my first teeth," She smiled large enough to show him that she was missing a few more.

And it was comments like that that really killed him. That she and him both knew that he was not there for her. He would be forever grateful toward Giovanni and all he had done to protect Amira and the child but if he had known! He would not have left, he would have been mad enough to try to protect them from all harm.

"_Azizam," _Amira's voice was a warning and it was oddly impulsive of her to keep her daughter from being so rude to her own father. She didn't think she loved Erik _that_ much for that. No, that statement was stupid, even in her head. She loved Erik and it was because he works so hard and he loves so dearly and because he still got nervous around her.

"Are we almost there?" Luciana tugged at the western French dress Erik had bought for her the day before they left. It wasn't so bad, she picked it out. The man in the store had asked Erik, in rapid conversational French, if the girl was his daughter. He said yes. The man nodded but didn't seem to believe the resemblance. He looked from Erik to the little girl several times trying to see how the rosy and lively girl with her dark skin and voluminous hair had to do with a man who looked rather pale and wore a mask on his face. That had confused Luciana but she didn't say anything. He was her Baba, she knew that much. They had left the store and the next day they were putting their scarce cargo on the carriage and Luciana looked fabulous in her dress. It was pink satin, laced on the bottom and collared at the neck with a white ribbon around her waist. Maamaan however decided to stick to her traditional outfit, more comfortable she claimed. Baba was dressed in a very nice suit, he had made sure his mask was on right and all.

Even she had whispered to Maamaan, "Baba looks very handsome like that, huh?"

He did to her, he stood so tall and from behind, he looked like the very gentlemen who would ride carriages to the café or to Madame so and so's palace. His hair was nice and his eyelashes seemed prominently curved today as well as the fact the tailoring of his suit made him look like he was ready to leap on a horse.

"Why do we have to dress so nicely?" Luciana had asked.

"Because we are seeing my mother," He explained, the exasperation presumably unintentional, "Your grandmother,"

"Why don't you see her?"

"I don't get to."

"Why?"

"Because… I will explain everything when you are older."

"That's great!" Luciana nodded with a large smile so that her parents were inclined to ask.

"Why?" Amira started.

"Because I need to use the bathroom!" Luciana crossed her legs with a smile.

"We're almost there." Erik stated. He sounded as if he was out of breath.

"How can you tell?" Luciana peered out the window, her nose pressed against the window trying to look for signs of civilization.

Erik turned to Amira, his eyes told everything. Bad memories rested here and he was facing it. She only gripped his hand tighter.

Five minutes passed before his statement was confirmed. The driver peeked his head into the carriage after stopping.

"I believe we're here," He drawled out, chewing on something in his mouth. Erik slipped him a decent amount of money and so the man drove away, leaving them with no further choice but to proceed to the house.

It looked just like it did all those years ago, except for perhaps, looking the slightest bit dirtier.

"This is it," Erik smoothed down his hair, "Merde,"

"What does that word mean?" Luciana asked suddenly, "I always hear the men on the streets say that!"

"Nothing, never repeat it, Luci," Erik panicked, "You hear me? I'm nervous. Oh! Don't say that in grandmother's house, understand?"

"Don't be nervous. It will be grand!" Luciana reassured him.

"I hope so," He sighed before turning to Amira, she placed her hands on one elbow and leaned up, kissing him on the lips.

"I'm right here, Erik," She whispered softly.

The three of them walked up and before his mind registered his action, he knocked on the door. And when it opened, a tiny old lady opened the door.

"Erik!" She exclaimed.


	9. Chapter 9

"My God, I cannot believe this, can it really be you, Erik?" the woman leaned back to get a full look at the man who she saw only as a boy. Erik could only grin dumbly, a rare expression, before he waved to the figure of his Amira.

"Marie, this is Amira and this is my daughter Luciana" Erik nodded to them as Amira pulled the headscarf tighter around the neck.

"Is she your maamaan?" Luciana's remark was loud as Marie, squinting her eyes at the two, smiled.

"No, dear, she's close to a mother though," Erik pulled on her daughter's hand. Then he turned his full attention back to Marie, who was tightening her graying red hair into a braid.

"Marie, is my mother...?" He couldn't finish.

"She's inside," Marie let out a sigh of pity, "Can I see her?"

"She is your mother, isn't she?" She sounded as if she was complaining of an ungrateful brat that resided inside the house. So the four of them walked down the hallway. The wallpapers were torn, moldy near the bottom and everything was exactly as Erik remembered. Twenty something years ago.

"Your daughter speaks exquisite French." Marie murmured to Erik. "Your wife, she's not French is she?"

"No, she's not." Erik replied hastily. He didn't mention that they were not yet married, nor of how they met.

"Very Interesting." Marie pursed her lips, her face wrinkling in effect. "Your mother should take it one way or the other."

"Where is she?" Erik was impatient.

"Hold on just a bit. She is in her room." Marie snapped as she knocked on a wooden door, her voice lowered to a whisper, "Now your mother, she was never the same since you ran away, her mind is…not in the right place."

"She doesn't remember me." Erik could not help but reveal his selfish comment. The woman who made him sit in the corner and cry, punishing him because he was too ugly.

"No, now her vision of you is just distorted. I think your madam and daughter should stay outside." Marie turned to Amira.

"Are you hungry? I have some cheese and bread." Amira blinked several times, suddenly forgetting her basic French.

"Amira jan, eat please, I'll be out in just a little while." Erik translated in Persian to his wife and Luciana let out a pout.

"I want to see Grandmama too!" She tugged at her father's hand. "Why, Maamaan even said I was named after her!"

"Luciana, hush, when Baba is talking to you, he will address you." Amira took her daughter's other hand, nudging her to follow her.

"Not yet, dear," Erik was rather frustrated, nervous at this reunion with his mother. But he quickly realized the motives of his actions. He didn't want her to get hurt by her. He would protect his family and if his mother himself would raise hell then he would as well. At that moment, when he thought of his daughter, he was brave enough to do anything. So his hands reached for the knob and turned it. The door creaked and he walked in. There she was, her royal majesty lying on the bed. She looked up. And that smile returned to her face for she had won. She believed so. And one side told her to forgive and forget and to love her son…her son. Erik. "Erik," His name slipped her mouth more tenderly than she would like. Erik crossed to her side. He felt as vulnerable as when he was younger, when he believed there was a greater master than himself.

"Mother." He exclaimed.

"So you've returned." She let out a manic smirk, "What reason would bring you here?"

"Mother, I want you to meet my family."

"A family? I don't believe you!" She laughed. "You don't deserve one. Do you understand that? You betrayed the only family you had in the world. Me! You killed your mother by running away!"

"Shut up." His lips had barely moved when these words were emitted.

"How dare you come back and not apologize?" Her voice raised enough so that Marie came running in the room.

"For what?"

"For everything. Get out of my sight." Madeleine turned to look at the other way, trying not to let any emotion detract from the proper scolding she thought Erik deserved. Her son bit his lip and answered back coldly. "very well."

As he walked out of her room, her voice pierced his ears, that he was a failure of a son, that he had killed her. And Erik wished in his heart that these words were true.


	10. Chapter 10

He was muttering to himself.

"Why are we still here in my mother's hospitality,"He stood in front of a dusty mirror, smoothing down his hair and placing it as comfortably and carefully as he could on his face.

"Erik, you are among people you know, you do not need it," Amira wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, feeling the air escape his white shirt, half buttoned and mysteriously unwrinkled despite where she found it in the morning.

"Amira jan, I scare myself every morning," He rolled his eyes as he turned around and kissed her on the forehead. "Besides, maybe oxygen makes it worse"

And she had no idea if she should take him seriously. So she let him put on his pants and she absentmindedly prayed to Allah, flipping through a worn Quran Erik had never noticed before. before slipping out of the bathrobe and into her hijab.

"Do you still believe?" Erik asked, merely out of curiousity.

"Of course I do. It's part of who I am." Amira closed the Quran, "I tried to ignore it a few times but in the end, I can't, Allah is my salvation."

"I would have never thought." He murmured with a thoughtless nod.

"Are you trying to convert me to Catholicism now?" Amira smirked, "you know, after all we have been through, none of which Allah would approve of, I still pray and yet he brought me to you again,"

"You mean, marriage." Erik was silent. "Amira, we'll get married."

"I know." Was her simple answer, kissing him on the lips, on hand resting on his neck, "I'm still a girl. I need reassurance. I love you. Don't worry about it."

"You are so level-headed," Erik commented.

"No, I just had a lot of time to think." She smiled. And pretty much their privacy had ended when there was a knock on their door. Erik rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Amira and kissing her fiercely on the lips as she laughed, her hands trying to pry his arms off reluctantly.

"Come in, "Erik stated, without emotion.

Marie appeared at the door, hunched over and carrying a tray filled with an assortment of foods.

"Good morning," She smiled pleasantly, "Breakfast is downstairs if you please, I'm on my way to your mother's room."

Erik furrowed his brows.

"Why don't you tell her to get her own food?" He asked.

"Your mother is very frail, even if she doesn't show it." Marie shrugged, "Well, I best get going."

"Alright, thank you." Erik nodded and closed the door. His finger stroked Amira's face and suddenly his voice changed, "Where were we?"

"Luciana?" Amira asked.

"Right. I don't trust her with that-person either." Erik agreed and the two of them walked down the hall holding hands.

An erratic screech of noise that sounded like a cat filled the hallways and Amira could not help but peer around the room, looking at the paintings that adorned the walls, so solemn and grotesque were these paintings of such ordinary objects.

"Where's Luciana?" Amira asked her husband, who in the darkness, searched for his Amira's eyes as if they were the lighthouse in a sea of turmoil. She furrowed her brow at his hesitancy to move about, a stranger in his own house as much as she was a stranger in anyone else's house.

"She's running around all the time, that girl," Amira sighed disapprovingly, though proud to have such a high spirited daughter.

A clamoring of metal was heard and the two leaped apart, backs parallel to each side of the wall while Marie swaggered forward.

"Go on, breakfast is getting cold, how old are you two? Still growing?" Marie was already halfway down the stairs, wiping her hands on the apron.

"Marie, where is Luci?" Erik asked.

"Luci?" She furrowed her brows, eyeing the mother for any sign of Italian, save any Mediterranean, blood in such a distinctively oriental face, "That's her name,"

But Marie lost no time.

"She's jumping about on Madeleine's bed, fell off a few times too." And Marie dashed back down.

"Luciana in my mother's room?" Erik questioned, pulling on Amira's hand as they walked toward the room and when he boldly pushed open the creaky door, he who was little surprised by the cruelties of life, was left astounded at the few miracles life did give.

"Mama?" His voice was gravelly, and he was as small as he remembered himself to be in her presence. Luciana was tucked alongside Madeleine in her large bed, her fingers stuffing croissants slabbed with jam into her mouth.

She only retorted one comment, as her eyes darted from Erik to Amira, her arm draped around her granddaughter's shoulder.

"It took you quite some time to tell me you had a beautiful daughter."


End file.
